A photoretrospective of "Lounging with Lion"--Part VIII

(Side note: This is my 200th post. Holla!)




2 months

3 months, 2 weeks

5 months

6 months

7 months, 1 week

8 months, 2 days

9 months, 2 days

10 months, 1 day

11 months, 1 week



12 months, 1 day

At one year, E...

...mostly walks and only crawls at the end of day when he is sleepy.

...needs a snack after getting home from school.

...drinks milk and water in his little cup and only gets a bottle before bedtime.

...still adores his pacifier.

...now sits facing the front in his carseat.

...has started saying, "daw" when he sees a dog outside or on television.

...starts to become a little clingy when we leave the room.

...loves to look through books while sitting in our laps right after he wakes up.

...has mastered crawling up our stairs and is quite a fan of reaching the top.

...is quite possibly the best thing in my life.

Happy Birthday, my sweet boy

Holding the vitals that are his picture Bible and a mangled birthday card.



Today E turns one.

Last May 28 my water broke at 3:00am. When that happened I thought, in all my glamorous pregnancy state, that I'd actually peed on myself. That's right--that's what I thought. Nonsense like that happens when you're pregnant and I'd actually stopped grossing myself out by that point.

Anyway, because I wasn't having any contractions I didn't know what to do. Should I call the doctor? Should I take a shower? Should I wake T up? WTF, mate?

So I prayed. I prayed that God would somehow let me know what I was supposed to do and what was happening.

E then gave me a killer wallop of a kick and I took that as my sign.

I got up, took a shower, shaved, wrote a few checks for bills that were due, left a message on my boss' voicemail, threw my makeup in my hospital bag, called my doctor, called my parents and then woke T up (he sleeps like the dead and had no idea I'd been putzing around) at 5:00am.

When I woke T up, I pointed to my ginormous mid-section. His eyes got big and then he launched himself out of the bed. He took a shower, I made the bed (I'm anal like that).

We got to the hospital a little after 6:00am and told the Emergency Room employee that I was in labor. She laughed and acted like she didn't believe me. I guess the lack of blood, carnage and grimacing didn't convince her. I still wasn't having any contractions, so I was feeling all big for my britches. Thinking, "This is what's it's like? What a lot of hullabaloo."

We hung out in admitting and then were given our room. I was barely dilated so they hooked up to a hit of Pitocin.

Holey schnikes.

The contractions started about 10:00am and were no effing joke. I made T stop talking. And yet I was hungry beyond belief. He gave me his hand to squeeze and I did. Hard.

I also remember being exceptionally bored. What is it about a hospital room that makes time as you know it slow down? I think T and I watched the movie "Curious George." And T laughed. Sigh.

At about 3:00pm I asked for the epidural. I couldn't handle the contractions; they were exhausting. I remember having to wait for another hour and just about crying when finally the Magical Doctor Lady walked in the room

The worst part about getting an epidural? Besides the foot long needle being injected in your spine? They require you to bend over (ummm...hello...ginormous belly full o' baby) and remain completely still. While continuing to have contractions.

Suckville.

And yet so worth it.

After the bad boy sunk in, I slept and slept and slept. T, no surprise, worked on finance spreadsheets. Budgets must go on, I suppose.

At 8:00pm, I started pushing. By far the hardest thing of the whole experience. It was exhausting as...maybe doing a 5K in my fastest time ever and then deciding to then lift weights in a super frantic fashion. Winded, tiring, just wanting to put your head down and stop.

At 10:51pm, the doctor told us it was a boy. E was marvelously healthy and beautiful and big. We cried. He was slimy.

I love him more than my heart knew it could love. Seeing him first thing in the morning makes my heart swell, and I get anxious tummy when I go to pick him up from daycare because 8 hours has seemed like such a long time to be away from his sweet face.

The first time he laughed, I cried. It was such a wonderful sound to hear that my baby was happy.

This first year has gone marvelously fast and also fabulously slow; I don't feel as if it's gone by too quickly. I have moments that I can't get over (the first time he lifted his arms up for us to hold him) and moments I wouldn't mind forgetting (the multiple f-bombs dropped at 3:00am when he wouldn't sleep).

I'd do anything for this little man, and I'm glad he calls me "momma."

We gave him a Rody for his birthday present. When we brought him downstairs and he spotted it, he smiled and immediately walked over to it...

...and then climbed on and started bouncing.

B sent E this super happy birthday message yesterday. Bwahahaha! Am thinking that smiley face exclamation point may be a little disingenuous.

Revue

Memorial Day weekend was lovely. It was full of walks, errands, swimming at the indoor pool, swimming at the outdoor pool, getting ice cream, going to Red Robin and dinners together as a family.

Pics below...



We walked to the local ice cream place Saturday afternoon and E had his first taste of ice cream. Not a huge fan but it didn't get panned like peas do, so you know.

On his way to his first swim at the outdoor pool on Sunday. After being slathered in sunscreen and shoved in his too small hat, we ventured out. We both had the best time and even shared a cheeseburger and bottled water for a post-swim afternoon snack. The best part? E took a crazy one and a half hour afternoon nap. Two thumbs up.

One ridiculously happy baby Monday morning.

Last week I super scrubbed our front entry and cleaned off the glass door. E now likes to crawl out there and watch the bus and the cars and people go by. He LOVES dogs and has started saying, "Daw!" when one walks by.

Wrestling with T.

One particularly stealth wrestling move that involved E snagging T by the nostril.

Hanging out with his friend B. Both thought that this bench was the greatest thing since sliced bread because, you know, it had slats and things.

Post Red Robin dinner and sans pants; working off those french fries.

Good night, sleep tight

Great v. suck

Great

Cherry chocolate chip muffins from a bakery in town

Anticipating a long weekend

E's approaching birthday

Jeans that fit well

Lunch with CurlyGirl

Hoping for a quiet, productive day

A swimming pool that opens for the season

Spotting a Burley for sale on Craigslist at a ridiculously cheap price



Suck

Children's clothes that say "Mommy's Little Monster"

Burger King's french fries

2% milk

Discovering at the end of the day that you accidentally wore your underwear inside-out

Being overdue for a wax and having another four days until the appointment

Emails that aren't replied to

Cracker confessions

(Yes, I just called myself a cracker.)


Confession #1:
I am so pale and so white that I've burned every time I've sat outside at lunch.

Confession #2:
I have a watch from my grandmother that's one of those old school wind-up watches and I can never figure out how it works. Which way do I wind?

Confession #3:
I am so done with counting points when I eat. It takes a lot of thought and energy and I'm tired of it all.

Confession #4:
Part of me also feels, like, "Why bother?" if I might get pregnant again soon.

Confession #5:
I would like the next two weeks of work to just be done with. Dreading things too much.



What would you like to get off your chest?

Free at last! Free at last!

I'm starting the day off full of a lightness of being. A freedom of spirit, if you will.

This weekend marked the last of the formula consumption in our house. That's right E is officially a full-time consumer of the cow's milk. And, as of last night, is officially down to only having three bottles a day.

Do you know what this means? Do you KNOW what this means?

It means that I'm no longer having to smell the absolute rankness that is soy formula.

It means no more scurried trips after work or on my lunch to buy formula once we've run out.

It means no longer spending almost $50.00 a week on formula.

It means no longer having to spend precious evening time rinsing bottles, scrubbing bottles, steaming bottles, making bottles for the nighttime and making bottles for school.

It means no longer having to carry E's little cooler of bottles to school thereby making my shoulder feel as if it is about to dislocate due to carrying the little cooler, my work bag, my lunch and the 24 pound baby.

It means no longer being worried that we'll be out and he'll suddenly need a bottle and we'll be nowhere near the formula can.

On the flip side, it also means that he's getting bigger. I've said this before, but as much as I celebrate these kinds of milestones, it breaks my heart if I think about it too long. It means that he's getting bigger and further and further away from being a baby.

If I had to choose, I might just freeze him riiiiggghht here. He can stand and walk pretty well, he can play on his own, he sleeps through the night, he's off the formula (see above), not yet having full-out CrazyTown tantrums and still loves to be hugged and carried and snuggled.

Pretty good, right?

Of course there's the backcrap and onesies that cannot be resuscitated, but I love me a gummy smile on the changing table so it's kind of worth it.

Anyway, the point is to live in the moment and, believe me, I just may have an adult beverage to celebrate the Passing of the Formula.

Salud!



Kiss my grits, Similac!

Out of the mouths of fools

On Saturday when I was being a willy over what to do about my mouth (go begging back to old dentist? venture back to new dentist but establish boundaries with hygienist? squeeze into brand new dentist?), T offered up this little nugget:

"You don't need to go to a dentist. You need to go to a mouth doctor."

What the...?

I was all, "What the hell do you think a dentist is?"

And then I proceeded to laugh at him all night and well into Sunday.

"Mouth doctor." Heh.

****

E wore new shoes today. Since he's walking more, I thought it would probably be good for him to get used to walking in the shoes right at the beginning.

Anyway, he was already wearing socks since it's a little chilly this morning.

It was a sad moment when I had to tell him:

"Sorry, guy. You're kind of sporting the Old Man in South Beach-look this morning. Tell the other kids not to judge."

Stealth like a ninja

Friday evening after dinner and bath, E and I were hanging out in his room. I sat on the floor and he wandered about and either pulled his books off the bookshelf or the diapers out of the drawer.

For whatever reason, he then decided to play behind his drapes and tried to act like I couldn't see him yet he kept poking his little round melon out to smile and make sure I was looking.

Perhaps he wouldn't make such a good ninja after all as I'm pretty sure ninjas aren't supposed to giggle crazily as they're trying to be all stealth and whatnot.

The evidence...














Despite perhaps not being the quietest of ninjas, he does have lightening fast paws.

"I know nothing of these drapes that you speak of. I've been here the whole time."

So I said, "Doctor!"

Something is going on in my mouth.

What I thought may have been a canker sore on my gum (not really knowing if that was possible) has turned dodgy.

It hurts, is bright red, has a white center and is making the surrounding gum area sore.

I peeled my lower lip back like a horse/Mick Jagger and showed it to T this morning while we were in the car. He crinkled his brow, shrugged his shoulders and moved his eyes back to the road.

It's been this way for the past week but today it's hurting more.

I'm wondering if it might be an abscess, but I don't really know what an abscess is.

Just told T that I'm going to Google it. In all his medical glory he responded with, "Looks like malnutrition."

I told him, "I don't think so. Have you seen my ass lately?"

Anyway, I'm still going to Google it--but I'm thinking a visit to a dentist might be in order. Except! Except that I'm between dentists.

Bah.

Ain't no party like a West Coast party

At least when it involves GladWare...

A dysfunctional relationship

The highlight of my Sunday evening is reveling in the glow of two straight days at home with the brown men, but perhaps more importantly, hunkering down in the sheets with my US Weekly magazine. It's a treasured time. Me, the pillows, the king sized bed and tabloid loveliness.

Anyway, this week's issue brought to my attention that actress Nia Vardalos recently lost 40 pounds. She looks great. What cracked me up is how she said she lost it:

"I broke up with cheese."

How wise. And sage.

Cheese is the bane of my existence and yet the reason why I live. You cannot put cheese on anything and not have it improved. If cheese is already on a dish, I sprinkle on more. If ordering something in a restaurant, I ask for "extra cheese, please." It makes T roll his eyes in wonder and my eyes roll in ecstasy.

My mom and I even have a theory that if stranded on an island--you should have with you a brick of cheddar. Melt that cheddar on anything (bugs, bark, sand) and instantly you're a-okay.

Even while trying to lose weight, I refuse to go to cheese that is fat-free or made with 2% milk. Because, really? That cheese is a cruel impostor and simply tastes like ass.

I embrace the cheese and probably the pounds I'll never shed because of it.

I accept it.

Nag, nag, nag

Lurid confession:

For the past two years, I kind of feel like I've been robbed of celebrating my anniversary with T.

Last year it was not a pretty sight. Although, happy beyond belief to have a super healthy baby boy in our arms, he arrived three days before our 5th anniversary. On the actual anniversary itself, my sweet parents came over and cooked us dinner and made us dessert and left us to enjoy it.

I tried hard but I was ridiculously tired and my milk was coming in and holy hell that hurts.

This year we planned E's 1st birthday party on the Sunday our anniversary falls on.

I know, I know. Petty much?

I don't know why I'm so hung up on this. I mean, come on! It's been a year!

At any rate, T took things into his own hands and got me a wonderful Mother's Day-combination-anniversary gift. This necklace I'd been admiring:

I told T it was the perfect Mother's Day/anniversary gift because (cue cheezy music) he and E have the key to my heart. Okay, that was ridiculous--but I love the necklace and am happy to have two brown men in my life with whom I can celebrate years of marriage and years of birthdays.

Blast from the past

For the past few weeks, I've been thinking a lot about where I was this time last year.

Random recollections:

Walking to meet my mom for lunch in late-April and literally wringing with sweat after the short distance on a 65 degree day. Pregnancy made me so hot all the time.

Realizing one May morning that practically none of my work clothes fit because I so ridiculously pregnant. And then sitting on the edge of the bed and crying because what the eff was a I supposed to wear to work?

Sleeping at that the foot of our bed perpendicular to T because it was the only place that was comfortable.

Going to bed each night wondering: a) how often I was going to get up to go to the bathroom and b) if that was the night E was going to come out. Then waking up each morning and sighing because he was still inside.

Doing laundry every other day because I didn't want to rush to the hospital to then come home a few days later to a load of dirty laundry.

Near the end of the month, planning my well-thought out argument for induction to my ob/gyn.

Taking a bike ride in mid-May feeling gloriously comfortable yet unable to make right hand turns because the handlebars would hit my belly and I had zero balance.

Sitting in my office and having my boss tell me one afternoon that I didn't look so good. E had just kicked me under my ribs and continuously felt like he was going to put a foot through my diaphragm and lungs.

Having my feet throb by the end of the day. And look chubby, like little snausages.

All in all it was kind of a weird time. T and I were on the cusp of perhaps one of the most major life changes ever and yet we had no idea what to expect or how to field the blows.

Stranger yet, no clear date on when it was all going to hit the fan. For a planner, that was agonizing. It was like knowing you were going to have this stupendous surprise party with the surprise being that you didn't know when it was going to take place. Would people jump out and yet "Surprise!" at 2:34pm or tomorrow or Sunday or three weeks from now?

So, for the past few weeks I've just been staring at E. Not only because he's this strange combination of still being a baby (pacifier a must) yet also resembling a little boy ("Hi!" "Bye!")--but mainly because 365 days a ago he was inside me, swimming about in his warm, floaty sac.

I think about all that I've learned and holy crap on a stick--it's been a lot. Like, when a baby coughs and has just eaten, you may want to hold him over something washable just in case it comes back up. Or, that nothing calms a baby down like wrapping him tight in a burrito. Or, the one time you leave the house in a saucy-fashion without a diaper and wipes will be the onetime the baby craps down his pants in Target leaving you with buying diapers, wipes and a new pair of 12 month pants to wrangle in the moderately gross family bathroom.

I'm glad that E is in our family, and seemingly he's happy to have joined us.

Random useless tidbits

Had a discussion with T a few weeks ago and again last night that both times resulted in him thinking I was lying to him about how mean swans are.

It started because we were on a daydate and eating a late lunch at an area restaurant that faces a lake. T was admiring a swan and I was all, "Don't EVER go near one or let E run towards one. They're mean mofos and will fly towards your face in order to eat your eyes out." Perhaps overly dramatic, but maybe not. Swans are mean, dude.

After discussing it again last night and trying to convince T how beautiful-but-vicious they are, I tried to get him to Google "how mean are swans."

He wouldn't do it.

****

In the past 24 hours, co-workers and I have discussed the phenomenon of a sticky penis and hair on the shaft.

I promise we're not usually this inappropriate at the workplace, but it needed to be discussed. Believe me.

****

I don't think E knows he has knees that bend and that this is handy for walking. Instead, he walks stiff-legged like a drunk zombie.

****

Am running a 5K tomorrow with my dad (but check out my friend Starr Fish who is doing the 25K. Woot!) and he is picking me up at the unholy hour of 6:45am.

If it freakin' rains on top of that, I may be a tick cranky.

****

Tomorrow I am going to a fabulous going away dinner for my friend A. Am SO looking forward to getting together with everyone for a lovely dinner and lots o' laughing.

****

I lost another 3 lbs. this past week making that a solid 15 that I'm down. Would love to lose another 10 or so before mid-June rolls around, but I'm very happy with having done this much in only six weeks.

****

I just got my teaching schedule for the summer term and holy crap on a stick. I have five classes and only one that I've taught before.

The real kick in the teeth--one is on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend and four others fall that next week.

At least they'll all be done with in one dramatic swoop.

****

After my weigh-in and meeting on Wednesday nights, I have a mega meal. Something huge. Something fatty. Something that I don't even count the points on. I figure I've got seven days before my next weigh-in to be diligent so why not treat myself. It's the only time I splurge like that during the week.

This week I had pizza. I'd been thinking of pizza for days. So, I got home, we put E to bed and I ordered a small pizza with mushrooms and sausage. I hate three pieces (which is a far cry from what I used to consume).

And I felt HORRIBLE. Crampy guts. Bloated. Achy. Sick. Gassy. It wasn't cute.

Ach. I even drank tea and didn't feel better until the next day.

The craving for pizza has been checked off the list.

****

Yesterday, E came home with two bags of clothes from daycare and sporting a loaner shirt. Homeboy had two blow-outs in one day. This antibiotic for his ear infections is no joke.

Last weekend T and I had to do the Jaws of Life on one of his onesies. It was so defiled I didn't think I could save it.

RIP striped onesie.

Swap o' rama

Red Door and I recently swapped some toys. While attending B's birthday party last month, E got a taste of the sweet life and mauled a bunch of B's toys.

Since E plays a lot at daycare, T and I haven't invested in buying a lot of toys for him at home. A handful of educational ones and the requisite annoying ones (minus the Fisher Price corn popper. Which if anyone buys for E's birthday, they should know that they will be beat with the popper itself.). Some of the ones he received for Christmas I stashed in his closet to whip out in a dry spell.

Anyway, E clearly got hip that there are some better things out there to be played with so we swapped activity tables and Red Door loaned us a walker/push cart for E to test drive.

As you can see, he loves it.

Plowing full force into the wood while artfully trying to push the door to our sunporch open.

Looking a bit suspicious. And kind of cute.

Also a bit like me in that he likes to be driven around rather than do the driving. So we put him in the wagon and tear around the house. T at a much slower pace than I. That, my friends, is a cardio workout--I was huffing and puffing by the end.

T also taught E how to say, "Wheeeeee!" which was pretty funny.

"Lounging with Lion"--Part VII

11 months, 1 week

Clearly trying to give me the slip.

At 11 months, E...

...says "uh-oh," "baby," "hi," "bye."

...still hates peas.

...will lean in and give me a kiss if I ask for one (swoon).

...waves his hand bye as we're putting on his coat.

...loves to play in the tupperware drawer in the kitchen.

...gets excited when he hears the garage door open.

...is standing on his own and takes 3-4 steps in a row. But than bails because, hello!, crawling is tres faster.

...loves to hear birds chirping outside but is not so much a fan of grass.

...is getting some crazy ass curly hair which I adore.

Like sands through the hourglass

So, here's the thing...T knows this couple who's story reads like US Weekly with a dash of Harlequin. As he was sharing the latest tidbit with me this weekend, I couldn't help but wonder if their story seems as dramatic and ridiculous to them, you know, looking from the inside. Or does the drama only appear to those not experiencing it firsthand?

The guy in the couple, A, is someone T used to know back in the day. They played soccer together and hung out and just generally drank too many gin and tonics. When I first started dating T, I liked A but didn't really trust him. Not that I really had to, but you know. He had this smiley-I-like-a-good-time-and-I'm-charismatic-and-handsome-thing going on. I find that appealing and yet shifty all rolled up into one.

Anyway, A then started dating L. For the life of me I can't remember how they met, but L was this super successful VP for a major bank in Manhattan. A?--mildly successful bullshit artist living in Michigan. Anyway, they got together and after awhile decided to get married in New Orleans. T and I booked our tickets and were pretty excited.

Except! The wedding never took place as it was called off before we all left to go down there. Except! A never "man"ned-up to call and tell us. It was all passed along info. Except! That A and L still went down there together with their families and, for intents and purposes, essentially had the reception minus the ceremony. (Held on an old plantation. Food was rockin'.)

It was all very twilight zone. T, I and some other friends sort of maneuvered through the weekend enjoying ourselves all the while sporting giant question marks over our melons.

If I can remember it correctly, they didn't get married then because of L wanting children and A already having a 3 year old daughter. Plus weirdo issues with A and his baby mama (whom he totally talked to over the course of that non-wedding weekend). Oh, and L being unable to leave New York, but A not willing to leave this state and his daughter. Not light things, really.

Anyway, a few years later T and A lose touch but through friends we hear he's back in town. Apparently, running a business. Where did he get the capital? From L. But they weren't really a "couple." She just, you know, supported him and sent him money and he went to New York to see her.

A few more years down the road, T and I found out that A and L did indeed take the plunge and get married. And he moved to New York to live with her; his daughter staying here in town.

A bit later, L gets relocated to London so they pack up and move there.

Present day, T just found out that L got let go from her job just one year shy of being owed a healthy severance package. As a result, their housing in London is kaput so they move back to the U.S. and settle down in a small town a few hours from here.

At this point in the recent tidbit sharing, I ask T, "How old are A and L?"--as this detail becomes important later.

"Oh, A is older than I am. Maybe early 50s. And L is probably my age, so early 40s."

Hmmm.

Come to find out, L had plans to leave A recently. Except! Except that she got pregnant.

I told T, "I bet this isn't how she expected her life to turn out."

I have no idea where I'm going with this really other than to wonder: Is she happy? Will they stay together? Will she find a new job? What will they name the baby? Would she do any of it differently?

Sleepytime accoutrements

Today was kind of rough for the Small Fry and it didn't really end on a good note either. Unless you count having to getting a second bath of the night because of vomit pooling in your zip-up jammies as a good time.

I don't so much.

Anyway, once he was doubly clean--E passed straight out. Just checked on him to see this:




Pacifier, taggie, bear--there's barely room in the crib for E.

Wait a minute..





When animals attack.